Indiana Dean and the Temple of Sam
by TheSoulCollector
Summary: It's Dean's birthday, and this year Sam's found the perfect gift for him.


So, I wrote this a while ago back, so I thought I would post it here. My attempt at a little humor. Hopefully it will give someone else a chuckle. Thanks for reading. Hugs, Ember

_Indiana Dean and the Temple of Sam_

"Dean, what are you doing with that?" Sam said, stopping long enough from his search of the old prop warehouse to check on Dean's progress in locating the possessed crystal skull responsible for the deaths of three people.

"Doing with what?" he asked innocently as he hid the bull whip he'd been playing with behind his back.

With a roll of his eyes, Sam gestured to Dean's right hand. "The whip you're holding in your hand."

With a grin, Dean shuffled the whip from one hand to the other and then raised his free hand. "See, nothing, Sam."

"Dude, unless you suddenly sprouted a long leather tail," he gestured toward the coil of leather trailing on the floor behind his brother's back, "I'm gonna take a wild stab in the dark and say it's in your other hand."

"Alright, you caught me, little brother, but I'm keeping the whip. It's cool, and I'm pretty sure it belonged to Indiana Jones." Bringing the whip back around, he drew it back and with a flick of his wrist he brought it forward. The leather hissed as it sliced through the air, and cracked hard against a prop cushioned couch, tearing it wide open. "Oh, yeah, I'm definitely keeping this."

"You keeping the hat, too, Indy?" Sam laughed, pointing to the brown felt fedora pulled down over Dean's brow.

"Oh, hell yeah." Dean pulled off the fedora, and excitedly jabbed his finger at the measurements marked in side. "Size 7 ¼ , Crown 5 ½ . . . you know what that means, Sammy?"

"I dunno," Sam shrugged, "you have a big head?"

"No, those are the exact measure measurements of Indy's head – which means this," he shook the hat in front of Sam's face, "this is his hat . . . and now it's mine."

"You do realize Indiana Jones is a fictional character, right?" Sam asked with a lift of a brow as he tried to contain his laughter at his big brother's fan-crazed knowledge of the fictional archaeologist.

"Well, some people would say demons aren't real, but we know better," Dean smoothly countered with another crack of his whip. "So who's to say there isn't a real Indiana Jones out there searching for the Holy Grail or a Crystal Skull?"

"Point taken," Sam said, heaving a exasperated sigh. "Which means you should probably put those back so when Indy goes on his next big death-defying adventure, he'll be sure to have his Hollywood props with him."

Dean stared longingly at the whip and fedora for several long moments, and then with his lips curling downward in a frown, he tossed them both onto the torn couch. "Let's just find that stupid skull and get the hell out of here."

With head lowered, Dean trudged away in search of the crystal skull. Sam watched him leave, then with a grin he snatched up both the whip and hat, and tucked them away beneath his jacket. Dean had always given him everything and never asked for anything in return. So it was always hard to come up with ideas of what to get him for his birthday, but this year would be different. This year he would finally be able to give Dean something he really wanted.

With the smile still lingering on his face, he resumed his hunt for the allusive skull, and within a matter of a few hours, Dean finally found it buried beneath a pile of old costumes. After they had dropped it off at Bobby's and were certain it was locked away in a protective box, the two younger hunters headed out to get some dinner.

Sam looked over the soup-stained menu, and having decided what he wanted, he set it aside. "What are you getting, Dean?"

"Double cheese burger, heavy on the onions, and a side of fires," he replied without even glancing at the menu. "How about you?"

"I'm gonna get the house salad with chicken and a side of broccoli."

"Salad and broccoli?" Dean shook his head in disbelief. "God, Samantha, you're such a chick sometimes."

"I don't care what you think, Dean," Sam huffed, "my body's a temple not some grease infested, heart attack waiting to happen like your body is."

"At least I'll die a happy man, Sammy." Dean smiled contentedly as he pat his stomach.

"Yeah, but with that much grease in you, you'll probably explode when they burn your remains."

He laughed. "True, but at least I'll go out with a big bang, little brother."

Sam join in with Dean's laughter, happy to see his older brother so relaxed after all the bad times they had gone through recently. "Dean," he said as their laughter died away, "I know you didn't want me to make a big deal out of your birthday, but I got you something."

"Damn it, Sammy. I told you not to bother, and just like every other year, you couldn't let it go, could you?"

"You're my big brother, Dean, and I'm not about to forget the most important person in my life's birthday, no matter how many times you tell me you don't want it celebrated."

After a lengthy pause wherein they both stared each other down, Dean finally conceded with a nod. "Fine, Sam, but I swear," he raised an arm, and pointed toward the kitchen, "if a group of tone-deaf people come out of that kitchen singing happy birthday to me, you're so dead."

Sam's gaze traveled briefly to the swinging doors leading to the cooking area, and then he raised an index finger. "I'll be right back." Sliding out of his seat, he rushed over to the waitress coming out of the kitchen, and whispered, "No singing, just pie . . . lots and lots of pie. Okay?"

"Okay, sugar," she responded, eyes narrowing in confusion, but Sam didn't stick around to explain.

He headed back to the table and slid into his seat. "Good news, Dean, I just asked and they have five different kinds of pie on the menu. I ordered you one of each so you could enjoy your birthday in a sugar induced coma."

"Damn, Sammy, this is turning out to be a not half bad birthday after all." He grinned. "So how about that birthday present?"

"Well, I didn't really have time to wrap it," Sam reluctantly admitted as he unzipped his jacket and pulled out the fedora and bullwhip. "But I didn't think you'd mind, Indiana Dean."

Dean's eyes widened as he snatched the whip and hat out of Sam's hands. Donning the fedora, he tightened his hold on the whip, and the look in his green eyes was more than enough of a thank you for Sam. "You know what this means, right, Sam?" he asked with a playful grin.

"No, not really," Sam said, narrowing his eyes on Dean as his smile grew wider.

"Well, you said I was Indiana Dean," he jabbed a finger into his chest, and with full blown laughter erupting from deep within his throat, he pointed at Sam, "and you're the Temple of Sam." He chuckled even louder, drawing everyone's attention to them. "Get it, Sammy? Indiana Dean and the Temple of Sam . . . God, I kill myself sometimes."

"Yeah, next year I'm so forgetting your birthday," Sam grumbled, but it was lost amidst Dean's riotous laughter.


End file.
